


Maybe I'm a Ghost

by sharkfruit



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Dream is an asshole, Ghost Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Romance, This Does Not End Well, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 05:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30050775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkfruit/pseuds/sharkfruit
Summary: It’s a disgrace, what this server has become without him.What a fucking joke.And now he’s cursed to stare at it, this mess, forever, and he doesn’t even have any fucking legs.or, Dream is a ghost.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 59
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	Maybe I'm a Ghost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [viewz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/viewz/gifts).



> Hi! This is my first time publishing on AO3, been hanging around for a while and thought it was finally time. 
> 
> The title comes from Ghost Story by Coldplay. It doesn't really add to the reading experience if you listen to it while you read, but I had it playing while I was doing some final touches and thought it applied decently well. Do with that what you will. 
> 
> You know the drill. Don't share this with the CC's or anyone affiliated. If anyone mentioned in this work changes their boundaries about fanfic, I'll take this down. 
> 
> Thanks! :]

&

_Maybe I'm a ghost_

_Just a whisper in a puff of smoke_

_A secret that nobody knows_

_No one will ever hear_

&

Maybe if he hadn’t been such a dick, he wouldn’t be in this position. 

If he had just said sorry, paid his time, didn’t try to escape like an absolute _idiot_ , he wouldn’t be dead. 

_Dead_ . When all this time, he thought he was immortal. Untouchable. Godly. The world was his. He created this place, built it from the ground up. It bears _his_ name; not Tommy’s, not Tubbo’s, not Wilbur’s, this is _his_ universe. His masterpiece. It’s a disgrace, what this server has become without him.

What a fucking joke.

And now he’s cursed to stare at it, this mess, forever, and he doesn’t even have any fucking legs. 

He wonders if anyone can actually see him, _hear_ him, until he realizes that they’re just ignoring him. No one has said a word, but he can see the way they tense up at his voice, move to look at the source of the sound, but think twice. Shuffle along as if nothing happened. It’s embarrassing, really. He’s not stupid. 

But it’s also kind of lonely, surrounded by all of his people, with no one to talk to. It’s _definitely_ because he was a dick, they all think so, but how is he supposed to redeem himself if no one will listen? Doesn’t he deserve a second chance?

Probably not. 

He’s about to give up, until he sees him. 

_"George!”_

George’s pace falters at his call, and it makes Dream chuckle, just a little. He whips his head around wildly, searching. Dream does the rest of the work for him, floating down in front of his face. George looks startled when he gives a wave, and then a bit sad. 

“Dream? How–?” 

There’s a beat of silence that Dream fills with, “I don’t know.”

&

_Or maybe I'm a ghost_

_A spectre on a rollercoaster_

_A thorn without a rose_

_Just something people fear_

&

“Why should I listen to you?” George spits as he stomps through his door, and Dream has heard this tone from him before, but it’s never been malicious. Never more than a petty tease at the end of a long game of manhunt, or a round of item roulette. It’s unsettling. 

“What do you– why not? What have I done?” Dream stammers, confused. 

George scoffs. “You can’t be serious,” he mutters and turns on his heel to the kitchen. Dream feels a pang in his heart watching George slice bread and slide the pieces into the toaster. The domesticity, the familiarity, makes something burn in his gut. 

George turns back to face him, palms supporting himself on the counter behind him. “You treated us like shit, Dream. The war? The throne? God, my _house?_ What is wrong with you?”

He’s gone red in the face, and Dream would be lying if he said it wasn’t a little endearing. 

"I just wanted what was best for you, George,” he says, and it’s true, just wanted to protect him, to have him in arm’s reach where no one could touch him. 

And he can admit that maybe George would be safer if the world was how it was when they first got here, just the few of them, before L’Manberg. Just existing with each other, where the most they had to worry about was sowing seeds so they could grow before the winter and being home before dark. He can hardly remember the George that didn’t have worry lines on his face or tense shoulders, the George that loved life and saw the good in everything.

George was the one good thing about this place. He was everything Dream isn't, and that was nobody's fault but his.

“How was _any_ of this good for me? You _used_ me, because you knew you had me wrapped around your _fucking_ finger. And then you pretended like you never cared in the first place! Was it even real, Dream?” 

And now George’s eyes have gone all glassy, and he won’t look him in the eyes. Dream has known George long enough to recognize his attempts at keeping his composure. He hates that he has the power to break him. 

George sniffles, eyes unfocused at the wood floor. “When you told Tommy you didn’t care about the server, about anything, about _us,_ was it true?”

He wants to tell him _yes,_ how embarrassing it would have been to admit he had an attachment to this place, but he doesn’t. He has nothing to lose anymore— no facade to uphold, no friends to betray, no life to lose. He would be lying. He’s sick of lying.

The toaster chirps. George doesn’t move. 

“No. If I had told Tommy I still cared about you, he would’ve had you killed.”

George exhales shakily, and Dream wants to reach out and hold him, touch his face and smooth the stress away from his forehead, but he can’t even feel the fucking ground. So George hums, eyes welling up with tears, and turns around to butter his bread. 

Dream watches the back of his head, the scraping of the knife against George’s toast mingling with the buzzing in his ears. How stupid he was, thinking that distancing himself would keep George closer. 

George speaks again. “Sapnap told me I was an idiot for thinking you were the same, deep down, somewhere. That you still loved us.” 

Dream wants to cry. “I did.”

The knife clatters onto the ceramic plate as George loosens it from his grip. “Shut up.” 

He can’t cry. “I do.” 

George swears, folding over the countertop, elbows against the cold marble and head falling into his trembling hands. 

Dream chokes, “I thought if I finished it, all on my own, I could’ve had you.” 

" _You already had me, Dream!_ ” 

George spins around, looking him in the eyes for the first time since they walked into this house, and Dream winces at his splotchy cheeks and runny nose. George must notice, since he swipes his sleeve across his face. He blinks and gestures to his forgotten toast. “Do you want it?”

“I can’t eat it.” 

George nods, and then mumbles, “See you around.” When he walks past him to the toilet, locking the door behind him, Dream takes that as his cue to leave. 

&

_What's the point in feeling love for you_

_When you don't believe I'm here?_

_Every time I try to pull you close_

_You disappear_

&

Past midnight, he and Sapnap are sitting on the roof of the community house. 

Scratch that. _Sapnap_ is sitting. Dream is.. hovering. 

Sapnap sighs, tilting his head to look up at the stars. Dream follows his gaze. He wishes he knew more about the constellations, wishes he could remember the ones George pointed out months ago. He longs for nights where they lay in the grass together until the sun rose, pondering what the future holds. He yearns for the feeling of George’s slender fingers wrapping gently around Dream’s wrist, raising their arms to the sky and pointing out the patterns in the cosmos. 

“He loved you, man.”

Dream feels itchy. “I know. He would never admit it, though.” 

Sapnap laughs. “Not outright, no. But he did.” 

He looks over to Dream then, studying his face. He doesn’t look back, wouldn’t dare, but sees him move in his peripheral. Dream wonders how much of him he can actually see— if he stuck his hand out, would it go right through him? Would he feel cold?

Sapnap’s face twists as he chews on the inside of his cheek. “It really sucked, letting you go. Trying to forget. I wanted to—“ 

His voice breaks, and he pauses to clear his throat. 

“I wanted to just pretend _you_ never happened, because it was easier than trying to forgive you. But you’re everywhere. It all reminds me of you. The Church, this house— you know Puffy fixed it up, yeah?” 

Dream nods. He watched the entire thing. 

He hears Sapnap swallow. “It was impossible to get away from you. Even now, I guess.” 

Dream inhales shakily before speaking. “It felt good to be a part of something. I just wanted more and didn’t know when to stop.”

“We weren’t enough, George and I?” 

“No.”

It hurts, being honest. “But it’s almost like the power turned me into a completely different person. I don’t think _he_ knew that I already had what I needed.”

“If that’s what makes you feel better,” Sapnap says through a sigh and lies back onto the cold brick of the roof, “but you still have to take responsibility for what _he_ did.”

“Yeah.” 

They don’t speak for a moment, save for the water lapping at the sides of the building and the rustling of the bushes beneath them. It’s nice to just _exist_ , to not have to worry about some impending doom or his next big move. The server is much quieter without him, he realizes. 

“I can forgive you, I think,” Sapnap whispers. “Eventually. But you’re still a dick.” 

Dream’s chest aches, and how that's possible, he doesn't know. “Thank you, Sap.”

It’s a start. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Have a good one <3
> 
> twitter.


End file.
